


Painting

by RayWrites



Series: Cardigan [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Post CA:TWS - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Man Bun, Cardigans, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayWrites/pseuds/RayWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gets lost in painting memories from the past</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my new (and first) series: Cardigan.  
> This prompt came from my friend, Lexus, on twitter. Basically, she wanted to see artist Bucky who wears cardigans and ties his hair up and drinks cups of tea and has dark circles under his eyes even when he's without his eye makeup and he paints things from his time in the war and gets really absorbed in them.

First Person, Reader P.O.V.

 

He was at it again. Bucky sat outside on the porch, for the best lighting I assume, and was painting again. It was ironic that it was so bright and sunny out today and yet his painting was dark and snow covered. I've seen something similar to it before. Steve had painted something like that about two month ago. He ended up throwing away the canvas right after doing the outline of a train.   
It made me curious if Bucky would do the same. Probably not, he just always got lost in his work. It was rare that he ever stopped before it was finished, only when there was an emergency. He rarely ever even paused when painting. He would just hold his cup of tea in his left, metal hand and take sips while his right hand continued to work.  
I held his refill in my hands, waiting for him to set the cup about now. I wouldn't dare ever actually disturb him. It's not like he ever lashes out at me or anything. It just doesn't register in his brain that I'm actually there, which is fine. Even when he paints horrible battle scenes, memories really, he's at peace. Even now, it was still so rare to see him so at peace.  
His bright blue eyes were outlined with deep dark circles, which actually just made his eyes shine more. I could see both of his forearms since his deep red cardigan was rolled up, one arm shined in the sunlight while the scars on his other one were highlighted in the light. He always wore a cardigan while in his civilian garb. His rough hands were covered in paint, mostly black and white right now. There were a little bit of brown and green from the trees.  
Finally, he set the cup down. It must have been empty but the slightly annoyed look that had flashed on his face. It was only there for a moment, but I caught it. These days, I could usually read him pretty well. Of course, the one that understood the man the most was Steve, but that was understandable. It wasn't like I was there with them back in the forties, though there are times that Bucky sure makes it seem like it with his choice phrases and gentlemanly gestures. Both he and Steve were bringing chivalry back.  
I set down the mug filled with tea next to his empty one. But before I take the empty one back into the kitchen to be washed, I needed to fix Bucky's hair. Another thing he seemed to be fond of was putting his hair in a messy bun or ponytail. Honestly, it looked better than my [h/c] hair whenever I tried to pull it back in a bun or whatever. I blame it on that I always have to do it myself, meanwhile he usually has someone else, me typically, do it for him.  
“I'm just going to fix your hair,” I told him softly. I didn't want to startle him, or make him mess up, or anything by just doing it without a little forewarning. Though, I'm sure he was aware of my movements, just never acknowledged them. Which is fine, really. I'm sure this is what it's like when I'm reading and he's the one not doing anything. We just seem to balance each other.  
Gently, I pulled out the ponytail holder from his dark hair. His hair was getting a bit on the long side again, brushing against his shoulders. I made a mentally note to ask him if he wants to trim it after he finishes his painting.  
Bucky's hair was so soft as I gathered it in my hands. Basic hygiene used to be such a hassle with him. He wouldn't shower for days, even after missions. And when he would, he didn't wash himself properly. It got to the point one day Steve and I both got into our swimsuits, Bucky too, and washed him ourselves in Tony's extra large shower. It took a month and a half of us doing that for him to finally get how to wash himself properly again, and all of his other hygiene problems disappeared shortly after that.  
I twisted his hair gently into a bun. It wasn't high up on the top of his head, but it wasn't resting against his neck either. I made sure there weren't any loose pieces to tickle his neck before grabbing the empty mug and heading to the kitchen.  
It was another three hours or so, I think, before he finished his painting. I ended up falling asleep on the couch, and was still half asleep when I heard him get up and come back inside. There was a soft clank as he put in mug in the sink. I lost track of where he was after that, probably cleaning up his paint supplies. I was too tired to figure out what exactly he was doing and just focused on going back to sleep.  
“You do too much for me,” I heard Bucky mutter while I was slipping back into dream land. I felt myself being lifted up. I assume he's taking back to my bed for proper sleep, something I always told him he needed and just couldn't sleep anywhere. “Thank you, [y/n].”


End file.
